


Aftermath

by BecauseImClassy



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Daredevil Season 3, F/M, Karen Page needs a hug, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Missing Scene, kind of reconciliation but not romantic yet, no action just talking, there is a hug is what I'm saying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 07:33:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecauseImClassy/pseuds/BecauseImClassy
Summary: After Matt defeats both Wilson Fisk and Agent Poindexter, Karen visits him to make sure he's all right.





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed watching season 3, and have not felt the need to write fix-it fics as I've done before. But I do think there's a good opportunity here for a missing scene, in between the final big fight and the happy scenes at the very end. I wanted to examine how Matt and Karen feel about each other, after everything that's happened, and what is underlying how comfortable they are together in those final scenes.
> 
> And for those of you following A Winter's Tale, don't worry, I'm still working on it! But I had the idea for this one, and I wanted to get it down while it was fresh in my mind.

Matt slipped away from the noise and confusion of the Presidential Hotel, and made his way back to the old boxing gym he’d been using as a base.

A part of him wanted to follow the transport that was taking Wilson Fisk back to prison, just in case. He hadn’t forgotten the ease with which Fisk had escaped from custody the first time he’d been arrested, two years ago.

True, the safety of Fisk’s wife Vanessa depended on him going quietly this time. But so did Matt’s own safety, and more importantly, Karen’s, as well as the safety of the city itself if Fisk remained at large. There was an awful lot riding on his willingness to remain docile, and Matt couldn’t help wanting to make sure nothing happened to that transport.

But he knew that Brett Mahoney hadn’t forgotten Fisk’s escape, either. And Matt was battered and exhausted. He had been in too many fights lately, with too little time in between to heal. Surely he had done enough now, and could leave the rest in Brett’s capable hands.

So Matt returned to the gym. Once there, he stood in the shower for a long time. The hot water soothed his abused muscles, while the white noise helped to calm his agitated mind. He had often struggled with the dark, violent side of his nature, but tonight he had been ready to stop fighting it and give in—or at least he thought he had. Somehow he had found the strength to step back from the brink, to hold the devil in check and force Fisk into a bargain instead of killing him.

But he felt no sense of triumph, now that it was over. His convictions had been pummeled as severely as his body, leaving him drained, too weary to savor his hard-won victory. He let the water rain down on him, thinking of nothing at all but the feel of it on his skin, the sound of it in his ears, the smell of his body becoming clean as sweat and blood washed away down the drain.

When he finally stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, he was calm as he hadn’t been in weeks. All the turbulent emotions that had possessed him had drained away, leaving him peaceful and empty. Not happy, not sad, not angry, feeling nothing except his own exhaustion. He dried himself methodically, and walked stiffly out into the locker room to find some clean clothes.

And then he head a quiet, familiar voice coming from the main training room.

“Hi, Matt, it’s me.”

* * *

Karen hurried through the streets, back to the old gym. She had seen Wilson Fisk taken away from the hotel in handcuffs, and his terrifying henchman, the fake Daredevil, brought out on a stretcher. Both of them still alive. Matt had won—and he had done it without killing.

But at what cost? If Fisk looked that beaten down, and Poindexter even worse, how badly hurt must Matt be?

She had watched him fight Poindexter twice already, and knew what a toll it had taken. Seeing him in real danger had forced her to acknowledge how much she still cared for him despite her anger, and now her relief at his victory had swiftly been overtaken by fear for him. The thought of him fighting both Poindexter _and_ Wilson Fisk, without his old body armor to protect him, made her shudder. She needed to know what they had done to him, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she had seen him for herself.

When she let herself into the gym, she could hear water running in the locker room. Good. He’d managed to get here in one piece, at least, and clean himself up. Relieved of her most pressing fear, she sat down to wait, at the table where she, Matt, and Foggy had worked together on their plan to bring down Fisk.

Caught up in the rush of events, there had been no time to worry about how Matt had let her and Foggy down in the past, or to wonder if she was ready to trust him again. Beating Fisk was the only thing that mattered, and working together was the only way to do it. She had focused on that goal, refusing to let herself be distracted by how _good_ it felt to finally have Matt back with them again, the three of them united in a common purpose once more.

She had refused, as well, to dwell on the things she and Matt had said to each other in the crypt below Clinton Church, and what those confessions might mean for the future. There _was_ no future, for either of them, unless they could defeat Fisk. Her feelings for Matt, good or bad, were something she couldn’t afford to think about until that was accomplished.

The sound of the shower stopped, bringing her abruptly back to the present. She still wasn’t ready to think about the future—right now, she just needed to know that Matt was all right. She waited a few minutes, giving him time to dry off and get dressed. And then she spoke, not raising her voice, knowing he would hear her.

“Hi, Matt, it’s me.”

* * *

Matt went still, his head turned toward the main room. “Karen?” he said, to himself more than to her. Why would she be here—had something else happened? A jolt of anxiety pierced his exhaustion. Had Fisk escaped, after all?

But no. Her voice was quiet and untroubled. An edge of nervousness, maybe, but not fearful. And if it were bad news, he knew she would tell him at once, not announce herself and then say nothing more. 

His empty calm returned, warmed by a small, distant spark of comfort that came from knowing Karen was near. He didn’t know why she had come, but he was glad she had.

She was waiting, he realized. She had let him know she was here, but now she waited for him, letting him come to her. He turned toward the door, and then winced as every muscle protested his too-rapid movement. Slowly, carefully, he made his way out to the main room.

* * *

“Karen?”

Matt hadn’t raised his voice, but the empty locker room amplified the quiet sound, bringing it clearly to Karen’s ears. She waited, listening as slow steps shuffled across the floor.

A part of her wanted to rush to his side, to see him and touch him and know that he was safe, but she forced herself to be still. He wasn’t calling to her for help, clearly he could walk on his own. And she knew that she had to let him.

Now that Fisk was beaten, and they were both finally out of danger, she realized she had no idea how Matt felt about her, or how he might behave toward her. They had been through too much, too quickly, and too many intense emotions had been stirred up with no time to process them. She had come here, compelled by her own need. But what did _he_ need? Did he want her here?

The slow steps came closer, and Matt appeared in the doorway, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. Karen’s heart clenched at the sight of him. He looked like hell, fresh scrapes and bruises visible everywhere she looked, walking stiffly as if every movement hurt him.

But at least he was walking. A rush of emotion filled her, relief mingled with distress. Affection and anxiety and sadness and protectiveness all jumbled together in a wave so powerful, it robbed her of speech. She leapt to her feet and hurried over to meet him, unable to stop herself.

His face was grey with exhaustion, his expression blank and dazed, and he stumbled a little as she reached him, catching himself on the wall. But a smile flitted across his face despite his obvious pain, warming his distant, tired eyes for an instant.

“Karen,” he said again, relief clear in his voice, and reached out to touch her arm.

It was enough. Without any more hesitation, she gathered him into her arms. Carefully, mindful of his injuries, she drew him close and held him against her heart, her own relief threatening to overwhelm her.

Matt froze for an instant in surprise, but then came abruptly back to life. The emptiness inside him was suddenly flooded with emotion, like the blood returning to a numb extremity, shocking and warm and unbearably sweet. His breath caught in his throat, and he wrapped his arms around Karen, ignoring the pain, and buried his face in her neck.

He was enveloped by the beat of her heart, the smell of her hair, the feel of her arms holding him close. How could he ever have turned his back on her? How could he possibly have thought that happiness was a worthless thing that he could just toss aside?

_She stuck around? Sounds like a keeper._

It was too soon, much too soon, to think about that. He wasn’t naive enough to think that one embrace could magically fix everything between them. But she was here, despite everything. They were safe now, and the necessity of working together was past; if she had chosen to walk away, he never would have blamed her. But here she was. For now, that was more than enough.

Karen still couldn’t speak, but her eyes teared up as Matt clung to her, his head on her shoulder. He heaved a deep sigh, and she could feel his weariness in the trembling of his muscles, and the heavy sag of his body against hers. She supported him gladly, tightening her arms to hold him more securely, rubbing her cheek in his damp hair.

She knew they were going to have to talk. Matters between them hadn’t been resolved, they had just been pushed aside in the press of more immediate concerns. Soon, they would need to continue a conversation they had barely begun. But not tonight. There would be time to talk later.

Tonight, it was enough to be released from fear, for him and for herself. It was enough to know that he wasn’t pushing her away, despite the things he now knew about her. That he wasn’t hiding his hurts, throwing up a smokescreen and insisting he was fine.

She felt that at last he was welcoming her fully into his strange double life. And she knew that she had accepted him back into her life, as well. Whatever form their relationship might take in the future, it began here, right now, with each of them choosing to reach out to the other and hold on tight.

She found her voice, and said softly, “Foggy and I were outside the hotel. We saw Fisk and Poindexter get brought out and taken away. I had to come see you, to make sure you’re all right.”

Matt resisted the habitual urge, almost a reflex, to say _I’m fine._ He had told Karen too many lies, for too long, and he wasn’t going to do it any more.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” he admitted, his voice muffled against her coat. “But it’s nothing that won’t heal.” He paused, then added quietly, “I’m glad you’re here.”

He felt her cheek, pressed lightly against his bent head, curve in a smile. “Me, too,” she answered. 

She held him quietly for a little longer, both of them reluctant to let go. But at last she said gently, “Come and sit down.”

“Before I fall down?” He lifted his aching head and smiled, and she shifted her hold on him, turning back toward the table and chairs beside the boxing ring. He let her help him the short distance, his arm over her shoulders, her arm around his waist. When he sank into a chair, a whole new set of muscles protested the shift in weight, and he groaned quietly.

Karen handed him a bottle of water and then sat beside him, drawing her chair close to his. He took the bottle with a murmur of thanks, and downed half of it in one long swallow.

There was a little more color in his face now, she was pleased to see. She knew she ought to go, and let him rest, but she didn’t want to leave just yet. He didn’t want her to, either, if the hand he rested on her forearm was any indication. Surely it wouldn’t do any harm to sit here a few minutes longer, and talk.

“I was afraid you’d been badly hurt,” she told him. “I mean, I know you’re an amazing fighter. But once I knew Poindexter was in there, as well as Fisk, and you were fighting them both…” she trailed off.

He nodded. “You’re right, together they would have been too much for me,” he said. “But they turned against each other. I found out from the fixer, Felix Manning, that Fisk had had someone killed that Poindexter cared about. So I told him.”

“And he went after Fisk?”

Matt nodded again. “They were fighting me, but they were fighting each other, too. They did each other enough damage to even the odds, and give me a chance. I think Fisk broke Poindexter’s back. I heard him saying he couldn’t move when the police came in.”

Karen shivered, trying not to think that that could have been Matt. “It was a good plan,” she said, covering his hand on her arm with her own. “Smart. You found a way to win, to beat them both, without killing. I’m glad.”

He heard the approval in her voice, but underneath it was something else, something he couldn’t identify.

“You knew I hadn’t killed them, before you came here tonight,” he said. It was a statement, not a question, but she heard what he wasn’t asking, and answered it.

“That’s not why I came,” she said quietly. “I would have come anyway. If you had killed Fisk, I would never judge you for it. Me, of all people!”

He realized then that the undercurrent he could hear in her voice was profound sadness, and remembered that she had done what he hadn’t—she had killed. But despite the fact that tonight he had dramatically re-affirmed his conviction that killing was wrong, he found it impossible to condemn her. He had always believed she was a good person, and he believed it still.

He certainly wasn’t any better than her. He had resisted temptation tonight, but his violent urges were still a part of him, waiting inside for the next opportunity to tempt him again. Tonight’s fight could so easily have ended differently.

“I almost did kill him,” he confessed, his voice low. “I had his head between my hands, Karen. He was beaten, he wasn’t fighting back. He practically dared me to do it. I could have killed him. I _wanted_ to kill him.”

Karen thought about that night, over two years ago now, when she had sat across a table from James Wesley in a dark warehouse. Thought about how she had felt in the endless moment between seizing the gun, and pulling the trigger. The moment of choice, inescapable and irrevocable.

“I wanted to take his life,” said Matt, his voice beginning to shake.

“I know,” she said softly, and squeezed his hand. “It’s all right, Matt. I know.”

And she did, he knew. Karen had been there. She could look the devil inside him straight in the face, without flinching, with sympathy and understanding. And yet, she could also understand his determination to fight against the darkness and not let it consume him. Understand, and approve.

“I’m glad you didn’t kill him, for your sake,” she said, once again answering his unspoken thoughts. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had—but you’d blame yourself.”

She reached up and gently touched his bruised face, her fingers stroking lightly over his cheek. “I’m glad you can still believe in yourself as someone who won’t cross that line,” she said. “And you can still believe in the things you do as Daredevil, as something good. Something untainted.”

That thread of sadness was still there in her voice, and Matt felt a sudden urge to take the hand that lingered on his cheek and kiss it, and reassure her that she was good, that she wasn’t tainted.

He resisted the kiss— _too much, too soon_ —but he did take her hand. “Thank you,” he said earnestly, his voice steady once more. “I know what you’re thinking, I can hear it in your voice, but I believe in you, too. The things you told me at the church don’t change everything else I know about you. You’re a good person, Karen.”

She stared at him in surprise. It was disconcerting to think that he could read her so easily, but stronger than her discomfort was a swelling feeling of relief, and gratitude. 

Him telling her she was good didn’t make it true, of course. But she knew that he believed it. She might not be able to detect lies like he could, but she was certain he wouldn’t lie to her about something like this. And it was surprisingly comforting to know that he thought she was good. Even if she wasn’t so sure.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“I mean it,” he said. 

“I know. And I appreciate it.”

He held her hand in silence for a moment. He suspected she didn’t actually believe what he was telling her, despite her gratitude. But maybe someday she would. He knew what a difference it could make, knowing that someone else believed in you. Even if you didn’t think you deserved it. Maybe especially then.

“Thank you, too,” he said. “For…for understanding. For not giving up on me. Even when you probably wanted to.”

“I tried to,” she admitted. “I thought I was done. But I’m glad now that I stuck around.”

She studied his face, seeing the scrapes and bruises, the split lip, the dark shadows under his eyes. Eyes that weren’t hidden from her anymore, behind either mask or dark glasses.

Whatever had been missing before, that had caused Foggy to say that he wasn’t _their_ Matt, seemed to have come back to him. As far as she could judge, he was himself again—perhaps more fully himself than she had ever seen him before. More fully than he had ever allowed her to see.

“I missed you,” she said, curling her fingers around his.

“Did you?” he asked, surprised. After everything he had done, all the pain he had caused her? But her heartbeat, calm and steady, told him it was true. “I missed you, too,” he said, and that was also true. Despite his best efforts to sever all personal ties, he had never managed to uproot her from his heart.

“Did you?” she echoed, doubtfully. She thought of all the weeks that he had been alive, but had deliberately kept that knowledge from her. He had cut her out of his life without mercy, until Wilson Fisk had drawn them back together. If he really had missed her, if he had been hurting himself as well as her by keeping them apart, did that make it better? Or worse?

Matt heard the doubt in her voice. “Yes,” he assured her. “I know I didn’t act like it, but I really did. I tried not to admit it to myself, though. I tried so hard to convince myself that it was best for everyone if I lived my life alone.” He sighed, and rubbed his face tiredly with his free hand. “God, I was a mess.”

Karen wanted to ask questions, wanted to understand what he had been thinking. But now wasn’t the time. “We can talk about it later,” she said gently. “Now, you should get some rest.”

“Yes,” he agreed, but he made no move to get up, or to let go of her hand. “We should talk again, soon. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, smiling. “Is there anything else you need tonight, before I go?”

“I could use some aspirin,” he said. “There’s a bottle in the first-aid kit, in the locker room.”

“All right, let’s get you back there, then.” The locker room was also where he had been sleeping, she knew, on a cot set up in one corner.

She stood up, and helped him to his feet. Matt stood with a groan, his body stiff and aching. He picked up his water bottle, and slung one arm over Karen’s shoulders once again. Her arm encircled his waist, and they crossed the floor back to the locker room together.

Karen’s body pressed warm and solid against his side, comforting him and supporting him. He leaned on her gratefully, surprised and thankful all over again that she was here, that he had been allowed back into her life, after he had tried so hard to shut her out of his. She might not be exactly the person he used to think she was, but she was still _Karen._ All the things that had drawn him to her in the first place were still true, even if they weren’t the whole story. And right now, he wanted more than anything to repair their relationship.

The talk he had just promised her, the explanations, might prove painful. But it would be worth it if it brought them to a better understanding of each other. And she deserved to know the truth, even if it didn’t reflect particularly well on him. He was done hiding from her.

She eased him down to sit on the edge of the low cot, then went and found the first-aid kit and brought him the aspirin. He took several, draining the rest of his water bottle.

Then he lay down gingerly, and Karen drew up the old blanket to cover him. He looked forward to being able to return to his apartment, and sleep in his own bed again—surely, after everything that had happened tonight, the FBI would have no further interest in Matt Murdock. But not now. He wasn’t going anywhere else tonight, not even home.

But he knew it would be there waiting for him, when he was ready—thanks to the woman who now knelt on the floor beside his cot. He reached for her hand, knowing he didn’t deserve such loyalty, wondering if he would ever be able to make it up to her.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For everything, not just tonight. But thank you for tonight, too. I’m glad you came to check on me.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, smoothing his hair gently with her free hand. “I’m glad I did, too. I’ll sleep better now I know you’re all right.”

“Good.” He didn’t want her to go, but his eyes were growing heavy despite himself. “Get home safe,” he said sleepily.

“I will. Good night, Matt.”

“Good night, Karen.”

She released his hand and rose to her feet, moving quietly toward the door. She turned back to look at him before she left the locker room, and stood watching him for a moment. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed and open, and the blanket over his chest rose and fell gently with his breathing. He looked peaceful, and her heart stirred at the sight, a feeling almost like _hope_ whispering through her.

She smiled, feeling more peaceful herself than she had in a long time.

She slipped out the door, carrying the image of him away with her as she crossed the training room to the exit, and stepped out into the night.


End file.
